Your story is worth fighting for.
The human heart is a beautiful, fragile thing. It is built of unconditional love, unwavering kindness, and trust in the goodness of others. It is, in nature, vulnerable, because the heart does not often realize it needs protecting. It cannot see how cruel the world is, and most times, it will never see it. We can put up endless blockades and defenses, but the heart will always remain true. The heart will always cultivate love.
Unfortunately, this world isn’t always as kind as it should be. Sometimes, our hearts are injured, directly and indirectly. They want to be open and they want to be shared, especially when we are too young to realize that level of openness isn’t always safe. That’s why so many children acquire a build up of emotional wounds as they grow. They wander the world with their hearts exposed fearlessly, and sadly, they often fall victim to the harmful words, behaviors, and beliefs of others.
I was a very open-hearted child. This meant stepping into adolescence with a plethora of emotional cuts and bruises. Thankfully, I had the opportunity to work with a kind, caring, supportive therapist throughout these years. We met when I was only thirteen years old, and our cathartic sessions lasted until I had to leave for college. She stood by me as I grew, helped me unravel childhood traumas, and taught me to manage my anxieties in a productive way. Most importantly, she made certain I knew how to treat myself with unconditional love, patience, and respect. She made certain I knew how to protect my heart.
Going away to college meant leaving behind all the comforts of home, her included. While my university offered abundant psychological support, meeting with a new therapist felt like an intimidating venture. For the first few years away, I was quite happy, so I didn’t think it was necessary anyway.
Then, life began conjuring some character development in my timeline, and if you’re a writer, you know exactly what that means.
The Character Development
I was faced with challenges I’d never imagined. Obstacles, hardships, and terrifying circumstances were dropped into my path, and I could tell that these particular chapters were about to get rough. In the aftermath of several rapid-fire crises stacked on top of one another, I was left feeling like a shell of my former self. When I gazed into the mirror, I saw empty eyes. I couldn’t smile without sending tears to them, because every smile felt like a cruel reminder of when I had actually been happy.
Now, I’d forgotten what happiness felt like. Now, the heart that had only known a certain caliber of pain was beaten, withered, and hollowed out.
I needed help. I needed a place to cultivate an understanding of what had happened to me, and a game plan for how to fix it. These new traumas would require time, love, patience, and care to a whole new level. My state was fragile. My mind was fragile. However, I was not fragile. Deep down, a resilient voice was begging me to go on, to heal. But how does one start healing, when all hope seems lost?
I wasn’t too keen on approaching a new therapist in this state. Even though I didn’t want to face this alone, I didn’t have the emotional capacity to open up my bleeding wounds and let them cry crimson all over a stranger’s office. I didn’t have the energy to summarize years of pain in a concise little package for anyone, let alone someone being paid by the hour. I could hardly explain what was happening to family and friends at this point.
So… It was me, myself, and — as a writer — my characters.
The Characters Who Saved My Life
My characters were my primary lifeline. Fictional folks from other universes and from the ones within my mind were always there, saying the things I didn’t possess the strength to say to myself. They whispered affirmations of self-love in my ear. They called me beautiful. They called me powerful. They told me I was worth saving. Since I saw their voices as completely separate from my own, I didn’t realize I was subliminally programming my subconscious through them.
My sense of self-worth was at an all time low. I couldn’t look in the mirror without hating the poor, miserable young woman gazing back at me. Trying to offer all this love in my own voice wouldn’t have worked. My mind would have rejected it. So, I snuck the self-love past my internal defenses disguised as compliments from beloved characters. I started writing tiny love stories in which these characters would come into my life and kiss every bruise on my beaten, but still beating heart. Eventually, their love became the love I’d give myself.
Once I’d successfully exited the crisis hurricane and regained my footing in a somewhat stable way, it was time to face the shadows. It was time for the unraveling. The first stage of healing was dedicated to easing me out of the broken, terrified place I’d been in. It was dedicated to gathering the fallen shards of my heart, and embracing them just as they were. In pieces, but still perfect. However, I genuinely wanted to start putting myself back together, not as I was, but as someone new.
Still, I was not ready to share my experiences with anyone. I was not ready to be vulnerable, to leave myself unprotected again. I sought some advice on what to do in a situation like this one. I wanted to work through everything that had happened. I wanted to embark on the next phases of my self-love and healing journeys. I just didn’t feel comfortable sharing it yet.
I had worked hard to transform into the person I felt most comfortable with, my biggest fan, best friend, and strongest ally. I shed the layers of self-hatred and became the fierce protector of my heart. I knew I would be safe with me, but I still wasn’t convinced I’d be safe with others.
My Dark Night of The Soul
I discovered an article that claimed journalling could be as effective as therapy. It seemed too good to be true, and for me, it was.
I’m no stranger to blank pages, but this blank page was — by far — the worst I’d ever faced. Tasked with compiling all of that terribleness in cursive swoops on a sheet of loose leaf, I stared at an open book for hours. Being a perfectionist, I couldn’t figure out where to start or how to properly use this technique. I was so obsessed with the act of doing it correctly that I failed to realize that striving for perfection was defeating the whole purpose.
On top of that, some part of me felt as if I was drafting a memoir, one that could someday be seen, and the feeling of being watched by an unseen audience crept in.
There had to be another way. I had to bypass my defenses again. I had to make myself feel safe enough to enter a state of genuine vulnerability. This is where creative writing truly comes in.
As we all know, writers often use their work to process emotions. For the longest time, I’d only used it as escapism, to explore realms beyond our own and befriend characters across the cosmos. I’d never thought about implementing the same techniques to explore my own realm, to befriend myself.
I opened up a page on Google Docs, and set up a character design template. Here, I laid out the framework of my life up to this point. I wrote my own backstory. Instead of treating it like a journal prompt, I wrote it with a dose of detachment. This was a place for me to plot out the timeline of events that had led my character to this very moment.
I gave myself permission to cut the cord between my incorporeal self and the human I was inhabiting. This led to an in-depth, analytically crafted web of events, joyful and depressing, inspiring and disheartening.
For the first time in my life, I was able to see exactly what had happened, exactly how certain choices and circumstances put me on this path. I was also able to view the traumas I’d experienced through completely new eyes.
Strange as it may sound, I was able to understand how these experiences contributed to my growth as a human being. They were not easy by any means. No one ever deserves to face pain and suffering. Still, these particular challenges, despite how awful they were to endure, inevitably ushered me to a level of triumphant self-love that I might have never accessed without them.
In films, books, and television shows, many characters face incredible darkness so that they can learn just how capable they are of finding the light again. They face pain, fight through it, and come out stronger on the other side. It’s a pivotal, essential part in any hero’s journey. In writing and in spirituality, it is sometimes referred to as The Dark Night of The Soul.
That’s what those painful years had been for me.
They were my very own Dark Night of The Soul. They were there to develop my human character into someone stronger, wiser, and (believe it or not) happier than she’d ever been. Suddenly, years that I had resented with every fiber of my being became years I was strangely grateful for.
I don’t think I would have been able to see this connection had I not treated myself like a character, for just a little while. I was so attached to my experiences, and to the human part of me that was forced to feel the pain, that I couldn’t take a step back and see things from a more wholistic perspective.
In writing, we must always see things from this wholistic angle. Every single thing that happens to a character must contribute to their development in some way. Often, we know how the story ends. Often, we know that ending is happy. In the midst of the process, it is about figuring out how to ready the main to receive their happy ending.
A New Story Begins
The wonders of looking at my life through this strategically-warped lens were seemingly never ending. They helped me dissect all that brought me to the present, but it was not the end. At last, I could see glimpses of a future worth fighting for, brighter than I ever dared imagine before.
“Who would I like to become?”
I asked myself this as though planning out the next stage in a fictional character’s growth. What are my hopes, dreams, and goals? What beautiful adventures would I like to go on? What is my true personality like? How does she move through the space? How does her aura emanate through a room? I jotted down fun, limitless possibilities for plot points to come.
I designed something of an alter-ego; my dream self, complete with pictures and in-depth character descriptions. I listed out her likes and dislikes, the intricacies of her personality, her beliefs about the world, and her deepest values. I got to the heart of every childlike wish, and every tiny thing that brings her joy. I listed out her pet peeves, her boundaries, and how she’d go about defending them. It did not take me long to realize that this character, this alter-ego, was not a character at all.
This was me.
This was me, unveiled and unobstructed; freed from the eyes of the invisible audience, societal expectations, and limiting beliefs imposed into my life. This was what had been hidden, the truest, most authentic version.
I wasn’t writing about a fictional character or a role to step into. For the first time in my life, I was fearlessly finding my way home. The pain and suffering I’d endured were part of the path. Perhaps I had strayed too far from my own heart, and I needed a wake up call. I needed a detour that would whirl me back around so that I wouldn’t get this lost again. Now, I was able to read over my little backstory with nothing but gratitude.
They were steps on a journey back to self.
Ironically enough, upon revisiting my creative works outside this exercise, I found that I’d never truly lost her. In some way, my characters were always carrying pieces of me. In some cases, they were my only means of being honest and true in a world I’d been taught to wear masks for. In my stories, I let myself breathe. I let myself be.
For the first time in far too long, I was dreaming and believing with a child’s heart again.
I’d found my way home, after years of wandering too far away from it.
So, if you’ve found yourself in a similar situation, I implore you to consider this journey. Even if creative writing isn’t your strong suit or your passion, I think it could be really helpful. Everyone loves stories in some way. Your life is your story. You are the main character and you are the writer. Don’t be afraid to pick up the pen.
Thank you so much for reading. This was a very vulnerable piece to share, and if it helps just one person out there, that will mean the world to me. I know life isn’t always the easiest, but I want you to know, the dark nights do come to an end. The sun always rises. Morning always comes. There was a time when I feared I’d never see glimmers of joy and beauty in this world again. There was a time when I wanted to give up. I am so, so happy that I didn’t. There are endless journeys to embark on. There is so much fun to be had. There are experiences that will ignite the glowing star within you, and help it shine brighter each and every day. It is worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for. ♡
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